Dance Into Destiny (13 page)

If looks could kill, Mother Hobbs would be dead—or at least in the intensive care unit.

Quinton said, “I didn't bring any exercise clothes or shoes. I didn't know I'd be here this long. I'll definitely take you up on that when I come back though, Shara.”

“That sounds good.” She forced a smile. Her mornings at the track were her special time with God and she didn't want to share them with anyone. She stood up. “I better get out of here. I want to do some reading before class tomorrow.”

Quinton walked her to the door. “I guess I'll see you when I get back. I've found a place to live so I'm gonna tie up some loose ends in Chicago and then make my way down here for good.”

“I'm surprised you found something that quick.” Shara was glad he had picked out a place. She was looking forward to having Mother Hobbs and the house back all to herself.

“Well, they have to do some renovations. Pastor Kendrick was right. There was nothing in real good shape in the neighborhood. Mother Hobbs is letting me stay here until it's ready. It may take a month or two.”

“That's some serious renovation.” Shara frowned.

“Yeah. Hopefully it won't be any longer than that.”

Mother Hobbs joined them at the door. “Don't even try to leave without giving me my hug.”

Shara gave Mother Hobbs a hug and kiss. “Thanks for dinner. It was great as usual.”

She awkwardly shook Quinton's hand and said a quick, “See you when you get back,” and went out to her car. She pretended not to notice that Quinton stood on the porch watching as she drove away.

W
hen she got home, Shara sat down at her dining table to study. She hadn't gone over her class notes for the day or done any reading. After about an hour, she realized she'd read a paragraph three times and had no idea what she'd read.

I must be tired.
She never had problems concentrating. She got up to get ready to go to bed.

When she looked in the bathroom mirror, she noticed how rumpled her hair was. Had it looked like that all day? She never could get it to lie down smoothly. She put some water on it and tried to brush it down, but it got wavy and still didn't lay right. She looked in the cabinet under the sink for something to slick it down with. She didn't buy too many hair products and the only thing she could find was a jar of blue Bergamot grease—something she'd used since childhood. Shara scooped out a big wad and tried to slick her hair back with it. It gathered in a clump at the top of her head.

Great
. It was definitely too late to wash her hair tonight. She tried to distribute the grease through her hair with the brush. By the time she finished, her hair was a wavy, greasy mess. She decided to tie it down with a scarf and see how it looked in the morning. Maybe she'd have some well-behaved waves like the guys did when they wore their “do-rags”.

 

Shara took the scarf off the next morning, expecting magic. Instead, she found her hair was a matted down, wavy, greasy mess. She dug in the back of her cabinet and found her curling iron. She hadn't used it for years, but decided to give it a try. She turned it on high, hoping she could straighten the waves out with the heat.

She picked up a large lock of hair at the front of her head, wrapped it around the curling iron and waited for a few seconds. The smell reminded her of her press-and-curl days in her aunt's kitchen growing up. Shara knew if she'd just get a perm, her hair would lie down with no problem. She didn't like the idea of putting chemicals in her hair or being stuck going to a salon on a regular basis, though.

Exactly how long did it take to curl her hair? She heard the grease pop like frying bacon. Must have been long enough. When she unrolled the hair, part of the curl stayed attached to the iron. Shara gasped and her eyes grew wide. She had burnt her hair! She studied the charred piece of hair left sticking up out of her head. It was short and frayed.

Now she'd never get it to lie down.

What was she going to do? She didn't have any of those fancy scarves people were wearing these days. Even if she did, she wouldn't know how to tie it right, so it would probably look like an Aunt Jemima rag. She opted for a baseball cap. That would get her through the day, but she couldn't wear a cap for the months it would take for her hair to grow back to a decent length to reach her ponytail. She'd have to ask someone who knew what to do.

She picked up the phone and dialed Keeva's number.

“Hello?” A groggy voice answered.

“Keeva, it's me Shara. Are you asleep?”

“Am I what? What the . . . Shara? Do you have any idea what time it is? Is everything all right?”

Shara heard a male voice in the background say, “Who is it, honey?”

She realized Mark was there with Keeva. “Oops! Sorry, but this is an emergency. Can you meet me after class today in the lobby of the Ed building?”

“Shara, what's going on?”

“Nothing, I need a little help. Just meet me then, okay?”

“Okay. 4:00. Lobby. Ed building. Bye.”

Shara put on her running clothes, pulled on the baseball cap and headed outside.

 

Keeva's mouth flew open when Shara pulled off her baseball cap. “What happened?” As she listened to Shara's explanation, she covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“Are you laughing? Keeva, it's not funny!”

“Bergamot? Are you serious? If you were gonna fry your hair, why didn't you use some Crisco?” Keeva laughed harder.

Shara's eyes widened.

“Oh Shar, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. We'll fix it. I promise, okay?” She studied the piece of hair and began talking to herself. “It's too short to be a bang and the edges are too frayed to slick back onto a ponytail. I guess you could . . . well no, because . . .”

Keeva shook her head and took out her cell phone. She turned her back to Shara and walked away, as if she was making a secret call. She returned smiling. “Consider it fixed.” She gave Shara a pensive glance. “There's one thing, though. You have to miss a couple of classes tomorrow morning.”

Shara gave her a “that's completely out of the question” look.

“Please.” Keeva rolled her eyes. “Consider it a mental health day.”

Shara shook her head slowly.

“Come on. Dag, girl, do you always have to be Miss Perfect? Live on the wild side for just one day. We'll play hooky together. You can go to your first class and then we'll meet here at 10:30. You have an 11:00 appointment with my stylist. Don't worry, girl. Everything will be fine.” She smiled knowingly. “Better than fine.”

A
s Keeva and Shara entered the upscale Buckhead salon, a slim light-skinned man smiled at Keeva and waved wildly, walking toward them. He had on black leather pants and a lime green shirt, no—blouse with ruffles on it. As he got closer, Shara could see how “pretty” he was. Was that eyeliner and foundation he was wearing? He and Keeva embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks.

“Antone, this is my friend I was telling you about, Shara. Shara, Antone.”

He shook Shara's hand lightly, eying her up and down. “Oh my goodness, Keeva, what do you think Antone is? Umh, umh, umh.” He directed Shara towards his chair.

As Shara walked toward the chair, she eyed the expensive looking products lined up on the shelves and surveyed the shop's glamorous décor. She felt like she was in a celebrity salon and wondered just how much this was going to cost her.

“Sit down, dear. Let me look at what we're dealing with here.” Antone pulled off her rubber band. “Oh my— look at this! It looks like a rat has been chewing on the ends of your hair. When was the last time you had your hair trimmed?” He got to the front of her hair and gasped. “What in the world happened here?”

He looked at Keeva, then at Shara's hair, then back at Keeva again. He called out to the receptionist, “Jackie, clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. This is gon' be a job. Thank God I'm good.”

Shara seethed quietly in the chair, hoping Keeva was feeling the full effect of the evil looks she was giving her. Keeva laughed and made a silly face behind Antone's back.

Antone said, “Keeva, I am flattered at the compliment girl, but you know you gon' owe me for this one. You are truly putting my skills to the test. Why, I haven't seen hair like this since—”

“Antone!” Keeva seemed to know Shara wasn't going to take too much more. “Darling, you are the best. What do you think we should do? I thought about a bob or a short cut. The only problem is that Shara doesn't want to give up her ponytail.”

“Shara, girlfriend, rubber bands are
not
your friend. Let Antone show you what's happening. They're like little razors, especially when you put them on real tight. They scrape away at the hair cuticle . . .” He continued his discussion on the perils of chronic rubber band use.

In spite of his rudeness, he seemed to know a lot about hair, so Shara decided to listen.

“All this hair back here is badly damaged and is going to have to come off. The front is
burnt
so it has to be cut, too. Don't worry, you're in the hands of a cutting master.”

“But if you cut off a lot, I won't be able to pull it back anymore,” Shara objected.

Antone rolled his eyes. “Hello, is anybody home? Did you hear anything Antone just said? No more ponytails, goodbye, no more.” He gestured dramatically, as if he was throwing the ponytail away.

Shara wrinkled her nose. “What am I supposed to do with my hair then? If I can't pull it back, I'll have to curl it. You see what happens when I try to curl my hair.”

Antone looked at Keeva. “You must think Antone is a miracle worker. What I'm ‘sposed to do wit' her?”

He frowned and stared at Shara's hair. He turned her around in the chair a few times slowly, looked at her face, fluffed her hair, and then frowned again. He talked to himself under his breath. “Well if I . . . no because that'll make the . . . maybe if I . . . no that won't work either . . .” He squinted. “Your hair is just so . . . so dusty.” He scrunched his nose like he smelled something bad.

“Dusty?” Shara's nostrils flared. “You know what? This was a mistake.” She started to get up from the chair.

Antone put a hand on her shoulder. “Girl, stop getting your little feelings hurt and sit down in that chair. Antone don't mean you no harm. I can
not
let you walk out of here looking like this. Now sit your little self down and let me do my job.”

Shara acquiesced and settled back into the chair. “What do you plan to do?”

“I can cut it in a short style that you can curl once a week and it should keep pretty well. Or, you can always come here once a week to get it curled.”

“I don't think that would work. I run everyday and by the time I finish sweating, my hair is all wavy and curly. It wouldn't last one day,” Shara whined.

“Wavy and curly?” Antone looked at her through squinted eyes again. He clapped his hands together and then said with flourish, “I have the perfect style for you. Now watch me work.”

Keeva walked to the door. “I'm going to get a manicure and pedicure. I'll be back in a few hours.”

Antone waved her away with his hand. “Girl, take your time.” He pursed his lips. “It may be a while.”

When Keeva returned two hours later, Antone's makeup artist was applying a natural brown color to Shara's full lips.

Keeva gasped. “Antone, what did you do?”

Shara gasped. “Oh no, what
did
he do? He won't let me look. After I protested him chopping me bald, he turned me around and hasn't let me see the mirror since. Do I look bad?”

Now Antone gasped. “Look bad? One of Antone's clients look bad? Antone is hurt—Antone is offended.”

He waved away the makeup artist and turned Shara toward the mirror. His indignance turned to arrogance as he saw the look on Shara's face. “That's right, baby. Antone is
the one.
I accept your apology my dear, but don't
ever
let it happen again.”

Shara stared at herself, speechless. If it weren't for the goofy look she knew she was wearing, she wouldn't have believed it was her staring back in the mirror. She lifted a finger to touch her hair and the person in the mirror lifted her hand also. Yep, it was her.

“Wow,” was all she could say.

Antone went on and on in the background about being “the one.”

“Wow,” she said again, softly.

Keeva came up behind her and stared at her reflection with her. She beamed as if she had transformed Shara herself. “Wow,” she said in agreement.

“Yes, Antone has skills. He is the original, the only.” He stopped praising himself to answer Keeva's question. “I cut off Shara's hair to about half an inch. This child had a fit when she saw all her hair hit the floor.” He paused and gave Shara a disgusted look. “I don't know why—it was all
dead
.”

He turned back to Keeva. “Then I tapered the sides and back, and put on a clear glaze to get rid of the ‘dustiness. ' Then all I had to do was put styling gel on it and it naturally curled up in these beautiful little wavy curls, all over her head.

“Then she let Serge here wax her eyebrows . . .”

Keeva's eyes widened.

Antone narrowed his eyes. “I know, chile. She practically cussed him out after the first rip. He had to be begged to finish. Child almost lost her religion in here. You shoulda heard her.” He sucked his teeth.

“You know she didn't want no makeup, but I persuaded her to let us do the bare minimum. A little eyeliner and lipstick and
voila
.” He gestured grandly at Shara. “The beauty before your eyes. Antone has done it again.”

Serge had to claim some of the glory. “It's a good thing she's a natural beauty and doesn't need much makeup. I picked the perfect colors to blend with her olive undertones. That perfect skin, those big eyes and full lips. What I would give . . . .”

Antone said, “The best thing is that she doesn't have to do anything to it. Just put some gel on it and go.”

He looked at Shara in the mirror and fingered her little curls proudly. “You hardly even need a comb anymore.” He paused dramatically, putting his hand to his chest. “My brilliance amazes me.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, Shara, you'll need to get your edges tapered about every three weeks and a full cut about every six weeks, so call and make an appointment or come in with Keeva.”

Shara didn't bother to complain that she was obligated to come to a salon on a regular basis. She looked and felt too good.

Antone put some products in a bag—shampoo, hair gel, and the eyeliner and lipstick they had used on Shara. “Now you need to get you some nice earrings. You have to wear jazzy earrings when you have a short haircut. Keeva, girl, you know what to do. I'm putting her back in your hands.”

He looked Shara up and down. “Why don't you take her to get some jeans that actually fit, or better still, some real jazzy clothes to go with her new hair cut? Do a total makeover. Ooohh,” he squealed. “This is just like Oprah.”

Keeva planted a kiss on Antone's cheek. “You are the best, forever and always. Put it on my tab, okay, love? I'll see you Saturday.”